


The Twelve Da—Hou—Whatevers of Christmas

by Taliya



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Crack, Friendship, Gen, Holiday Fic Exchange, Hurt/Comfort, Poirot Café Writing Contest, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28140252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taliya/pseuds/Taliya
Summary: Winter is a season of holidays, festivities, and acts of thoughtfulness and kindness.  Winter is a season of giving, and that includes trust.  Cue KID’s routine insanity.  Platonic Kaito-Shinichi, though it can very well be read otherwise.  Rewritten for Poirot Café’s Prompt Exchange #2.  Merry Christmas!
Relationships: Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan & Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	The Twelve Da—Hou—Whatevers of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neonkoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonkoi/gifts).



> _Detective Conan_ and _Magic Kaito_ characters, settings, and ideas do not belong to me but to Aoyama Gōshō.
> 
> \---
> 
> Warnings: None
> 
> \---
> 
> Prompt: Kaitou KID and Conan revealing their identities to one another on a moonlit Christmas heist. Maybe include sad, sarcastic, and happy elements and tones throughout the heist/reveal.
> 
> Word Count: 4550

_To my darling, cunning, gifted Tantei-kun,_

_It has been a beautiful five-year relationship  
with you, and I could not have asked for any  
better. After much thought and careful  
consideration, I believe it is time to take our  
relationship to the next level, despite your age.  
I feel you’d be mature enough to handle it—  
though I have my doubts _anyone _could handle  
me, based on my… rather subjective analysis  
in comparisons of levels of sanity. Regardless,  
I have a present for you, Tantei-kun, of which  
you may receive only on the night before the  
Eve of Christmas. Should you miss this one  
heist, your gift from me will be forfeit, and  
yours truly will be assuredly and appropriately  
appalled beyond measure that you would miss  
such a rare opportunity: a chance to accept a  
personalized present from the one and only  
Kaitou KID!_

_So prep that amazing intellect of yours for a  
night to remember, Tantei-kun. I’m positive  
my efforts will not have been in vain._

_The dashing and debonair phantom thief,_

_-Kaitou KID_

_P.S. – Please prepare that atrocious voice of  
yours as well; you’re going to need it in the  
performance._

_P.P.S. – I’m going to be working this in  
reverse, contrary to American tradition so as  
not to ruin a pleasant and rather coincidental  
surprise._

_P.P.P.S. – If you have problems getting away  
from Mouri-san or Mouri-chan, I would be  
more than happy to help; send word via the  
dove settled outside your window._

\---

 _You’re such a freaking flirt,_ was the first thought that ran though his head.

The second thought was, _You want me to_ SING _?!_

His third thought consisted of, _Reverse_ what _?_

The fourth thought shrieked, _WHAT RELATIONSHIP?!_

Sheer curiosity reluctantly prompted the fifth, _I’ll be at your damn heist for sure._

He glanced at the white bird settled on his windowsill and opened the window to let it in. There was a slight possibility he might need that little bit of extra help, and he did not want the poor creature to freeze.

\---

The notice had been sent out, and an intrigued Kudou Shinichi had worked out the location and time of Kaitou KID’s next heist, and after informing Division Two, had been grudgingly allowed to partake in KID’s capture. Of course, it was not actually Kudou Shinichi, twenty-one-year-old deductive genius in attendance, but eleven-year-old detective prodigy Edogawa Conan. The youth’s sharp blue eyes scanned the chaos around him, taking in the sounds of the Task Force’s preparations, Inspector Nakamori’s bellowing, and KID’s fans chanting. The overall atmosphere felt particularly charged to him—perhaps as a result of that rather personalized invitation that he had found on his bedding in Mouri Kogoro’s bedroom two days before the heist note had been delivered. The letter had been sealed and stamped with a cobalt blue wax crest featuring KID’s signature caricature. The paper of both envelope and letter was thick and heavy, and dyed a pristine white. It had been addressed simply:

_To: Tantei-kun_

Conan had torn the envelope open, his curiosity—the reason why he was currently stuck as a grade six middle school student instead of a third-year undergraduate—brimming with questions as to why Kaitou KID of all people would want to contact him. He briefly considered dusting the paper for fingerprints but immediately dismissed the idea, since KID always wore those white satin gloves. After he had read the note three times—the first time was speedily read, the second was a slow, methodical pass, and the third was with mingled confusion, embarrassment, excitement, inquisitiveness, and horror.

The objective of the evening’s heist was a curved cushion-cut, deep blue topaz that was slightly smaller than a soccer ball, and appropriately named the Light of the Sea. The polished stone was set in a bronze sculpture of the dragon form of the sea deity Watatsumi. The topaz rested between the front claws of the god, while the dragon’s serpentine body coiled and his neck arched upwards. The mouth was open in a soundless roar, the teeth glowing in the display lighting. The sculpture had been a donation to a small but well-funded museum had been directed to use as the dragon the rooftop centerpiece of their front entrance about ten meters above the ground floor.

Inspector Nakamori had argued with the museum curator for the several days leading up to the heist date, but the curator had stubbornly insisted that the donor had explicitly stated that the statue was to remain regardless of both internal and external events. As it was, there was a ring of policemen stationed around the sculpture on the roof, balanced precariously on the tilted surface. Conan contemplated the item in question, still unable to fathom exactly _why_ KID stole and returned the gems he filched, or why in the world that idiot wore _solid_ _white_ during evening and nighttime heists when it was clear he knew there were people sniping him. The shrunken detective scowled at the statue on the rooftop, displeased with the enigma that Kaitou KID represented as he blew his crystallized breath into his gloved hands and stamped his feet.

He glanced at his watch, which read eight fifty-eight. Two minutes until KID’s appearance. Conan slowly spun on his heel, eyes roving carefully about the space as he attempted to determine KID’s method of entry. The crowd, which had been barricaded by both physical police barriers and policemen to clear a sizeable space around the museum’s entrance, chanted KID’s name. There was the open night sky, along with a hoard of nameless spectators and policemen to use as the thief’s method of entry. At this point, anyone was suspect save for himself, since KID could not physically replicate his rather diminished stature without the help of the Apoptoxin—and that was a fate Conan would wish on no one, not after having to live with the results for the past five years. Not even Gin deserved such a fate—Haibara would certainly think otherwise, and Conan was sure she thought more along the lines of the more common and lethal result of the poison—though the detective himself felt that prison was a more suitable punishment for the cold-hearted assassin.

The sense of being watched prickled across his skin, raising the hairs along the back of his neck, and Conan instantly knew the thief had infiltrated the gallery. He twisted his head side to side, searching for the source of his discomfiture. He eyed the array of policemen and the crowd, the gleam of anticipation shining in his eyes. Tonight, he had a somewhat more personal stake in whether or not he managed to corner the thief, for the retrieval of his… rather questionable “gift”… relied on his ability to keep up with the elusive magician.

As the seconds ticked down, Conan frantically tried to pinpoint the phantom thief. At the stroke of nine, the crowd roared as a plume of smoke bloomed on the highest pinnacle of the roof, the haze dissipating with the help of a brisk breeze to reveal Kaitou KID in his pristine white splendor. He wore his usual outfit despite the fact that it was one degree below zero—much colder than the average low of five degrees this time of year. His breath froze in hoary puffs before his face as he grinned and raised his arms towards his adoring fans. Conan darted into the museum, intent on climbing to the roof to confront the phantom thief.

 _“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”_ he boomed cheerfully with the aid of a microphone and multiple speakers that were hidden _somewhere_ on the premises as the detective sprinted and panted up the stairs, _“A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL!”_

Somewhere within KID’s salutations, Conan heard the inspector’s roared, _“GET HIM!”_ There was a roar of affirmation, then a series of yelps and squawks, along with the magician thief’s elated laughter.

Conan popped the hatch that led to the roof and climbed out, teetering momentarily as he gained his footing on the slanted surface while being buffeted by the chill winds from the elevation. KID was waiting for him on the rooftop with cape flapping, having somehow dispersed the team of policemen that had been situated around the statue—the thief had somehow forced them all to slide off the roof, though they all had been caught by an invisible web of netting about three meters from the ground. The sculpture of Watatsumi, along with the Light of the Ocean, had, unsurprisingly, vanished.

“Tantei-kun!” KID greeted with a wide grin, “I’m utterly delighted you came!”

“Did you honestly think you could leave me a note like that and _not_ expect me to come?” Conan retorted with a scoff and a skeptically raised brow.

The thief chuckled. “I had hoped that I had written it in an enticing enough manner, such that you simply could not resist.” He pressed a hand over his heart and dipped his head down with his eyes closed. “I’ll have to congratulate myself on a job well done.”

Conan barely resisted the urge to slap a hand to his face and drag it down—the action would hurt since he wore glasses. “Oh my _god_ ,” he croaked, pinching his nose beneath the nose pads. “You are _unbelievable_.”

“Not unbelievable,” KID corrected, wagging a finger. He gestured to his fans with a casual sweep of an arm. “I assuredly am believable, as my adoring fans here can attest to else they would not be here at all cheering me on. I think the word you’re looking for is _indefinable_ , Tantei-kun, since like the phantom I am named for, I can take on a multitude of shapes and sizes, and you can’t ever seem to catch me.” He punctuated the last statement with a goading wink of his uncovered eye.

Conan snarled indignantly as he lunged at the thief, who nimbly hopped out of reach while snagging the nape of the boy’s thick winter jacket, the detective’s words muffled by his scarf. Despite being eleven, Conan was still, to his absolute misery, small for his age. The detective had grown significantly taller only once he had hit his growth spurt at age fourteen. So, it was with utter humiliation that even now he dangled from KID’s grasp, the toes of his shoes a few centimeters from the slanted tiles.

“Calm yourself,” the thief chided softly. “I don’t want you slipping and falling off the roof now—not when you’ve a show of your own to perform.” KID carefully lowered Conan to his feet, ensuring that the detective was fully stable before completely letting go of his jacket. With a twist of his hand, KID produced a wireless, clip-on microphone that he held out to Conan with a flourish. The detective’s eyes widened in dismay and dread as the thief smirked. “Remember what I wrote in the note, Tantei-kun?”

Conan’s eidetic memory pulled the postscript to the forefront of his mind with perfect clarity:

_P.S. – Please prepare that atrocious voice of_   
_yours as well; you’re going to need it in the_   
_performance._

His wide eyes traveled from the offered microphone resting in KID’s palm to the thief’s smiling mien with budding anxiety. _“No…”_

“Oh, _yes_ ,” KID purred. “I _did_ warn you ahead of time, Tantei-kun.”

The shrunken detective took several panicked steps backwards. “Then you know I _can’t_ sing!”

KID’s grin widened as he blinked lazily. “I only know that if you decide _not_ to sing, you won’t get your gift.”

Conan briefly debated his options before his curiosity won over his dignity, and he gnashed his teeth as he snatched the microphone from the magician and attached it to the front of his coat. _Damn my curiosity, and damn my no-killing policy! I am going to_ MURDER _you, KID!_

The phantom thief turned to face his audience and raised his hands, wordlessly asking for silence. Even the police were quiet, intrigued as to what their quarry had planned for the evening, considering he had not already fled with his prize for the night. “Ladies and gentlemen! Tonight, I humbly ask for your participation in a single Christmas song sing-along I have modified and abbreviated for your entertainment. Here to lead you in tonight’s chorus is none other than my youngest and favorite critic, Edogawa Conan!”

The gathered crowd cheered to Conan’s utter mortification, and KID snapped his fingers. Two white screens unrolled themselves off the edge of the roof, and an image of his grinning caricature emblazoned themselves on the plain surfaces. “The tune we’ll be singing to is entitled, _The Twelve Days of Christmas_. I hope you are familiar with the melody.” KID shot Conan a challenging sideways glance that he returned with a scorching glare of his own. “We will start on the twelfth day in the tune. On the count of three then!” the thief cried, and his fans shuffled in restless anticipation. “One! Two! Three!”

Words formed on the screens and the crowd, led by a horribly out-of-tune Edogawa Conan, belted:

_On KID’s heist on Christmas_

_The audience sang to me:_

_Twelve crowds all cheering,_

_Eleven different faces,_

_Ten ticked inspectors,_

_Nine stun-gun watches,_

_Eight tricks of magic,_

_Seven public contests,_

_Six card-guns firing,_

_Five soccer balls,_

_Four dog piles,_

_Three gemstones,_

_Two snow white doves,_

_And a Kaitou KID flying free!_

With the last verse, Kaitou KID flung himself off the roof and engaged his glider, riding the air currents to higher elevations. Conan clenched his fist as the thief escaped, though not before a slip of paper wafted his way. The detective caught it, reading the short message:

_A friend is someone with whom you dare to be yourself._

Conan felt something warm curl within his chest before he dashed down the roof, sliding on the soles of his sneakers as though he were on a board before jumping off the edge. The police had not yet taken down KID’s invisible safety net, and the detective bounced off the threads several times before he flipped himself to the ground. Snatching his skateboard from where he had stowed it prior to the heist, he hopped on it and fired up the engine, jetting after the airborne magician. The wind nipped at his exposed face and dried out his eyes, yet he refused to blink lest he lose sight of the white triangle in the sky.

At length Kaitou KID took a sharp turn _up_ the side of the Bell Tree Tower, disappearing over the edge of the upper observation deck. Conan angled his skateboard towards the illuminated needle. He managed to slip past the security and slide into the elevator that would take him to the observation deck. Once there, Conan glanced around, having no idea how to get above the guest-safe areas. A dove flapped before settling on one of the exposed steel joints along the curved glass of the walkway above the visitors’ heads, waiting until he saw it before it hopped from its perch and arced silently overhead. Conan hurried to follow, dodging both legs and children. The bird led him to an authorized personnel-only door that was slightly ajar despite the automatic closing and locking mechanism built into the door and frame. The dove landed before it, patiently waiting for Conan to push it wide enough before it hopped through.

Conan followed the avian up the stairs to another door, which he knew led out to the roof of the observation deck. He shoved hard against the heavy steel as the wind this high up had to be fairly strong. When he managed to exit, he found Kaitou KID standing by the edge of the broad, circular surface, back towards him and cape billowing dramatically behind him. The detective approached, and KID lifted a hand as the dove fluttered to land on his fingers.

“Good to see you made it, Tantei-kun,” he said as he petted and released the bird, his voice carrying over the soft flapping of his cloak as his breath froze in wispy trails of frost.

“So what’s this gift you keep mentioning?” Conan puffed as he stopped a meter or so behind the thief, his curiosity burning within and causing him to be more direct than usual.

KID crouched to sit on the edge of the roof, his feet dangling off the side as he patted the space beside him, inviting the sleuth to join him. Conan stepped to the edge next to the magician, gingerly sitting himself down into the same position as the phantom thief. KID produced from somewhere a thermos and two small mugs that he offered to Conan to hold as he poured two steaming cups of hot chocolate before vanishing the thermos. The magician took one and sipped the hot beverage, and Conan did the same as they took in Tokyo from four hundred fifty-six meters above the ground.

“What do you consider us, Tantei-kun?” KID asked abruptly, breaking the oddly companionable silence.

Conan took a moment to consider the thief’s question. “We’re rivals, for one, and you’re a most annoying one too,” he began. KID remained silent, allowing Conan time to think through his answer. “But I’d also say we’re allies.” His mind flashed to the strip of paper that he had caught, which even now rested inside his coat pocket. “And… I guess I could tentatively say friends as well.”

The thief hummed contentedly. “I’m glad that you think so, Tantei-kun. Over the years I’ve come to consider you a friend, too.” He finished his hot chocolate and made his cup disappear. Conan finished his a moment later, and his cup also vanished. “Despite the fact that you are a detective of pint-sized proportions.” The shrunken sleuth sent the magician thief a flat look, which KID returned with teasing smile. “So as far as your gift is concerned…”

KID easily levered himself up, extending a hand to help Conan off from the edge. He led the boy back into the spire and into the observation deck, which was now empty since it was past the tower’s visitor hours. The floor was dimmed, illuminated only by the light pollution of the Tokyo area. KID wandered to the window to take in the view, and Conan followed, stopping at the magician’s side. The thief turned to regard his smaller companion seriously, and Conan twisted to gaze steadily back with a trace of fear that KID might admit that this was all a massive prank on him.

“I like to think that after five years of competing with you, I’ve gotten to know you somewhat. We’re not conventional friends, since I don’t know what you favorite movie is or what your favorite ice cream flavor is, but you are one of the best people I’ve met. And that says a lot.” KID grinned, and it was, perhaps, the first honest smile that Conan had seen on the thief’s face. Conan himself flushed at the praise. “I like to think that I can trust you—and that maybe we could actual friends.”

Conan’s breath hitched at the implications. _He’s not really planning to… Is he…?_

“It’s something I’ve thought through intensely for several months,” KID continued, “But I think after all the hijinks we’ve been through, you knowing who I am should not affect our game—not if you are who I think you are.”

The detective watched, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as Kaitou KID took a fortifying breath before he removed his top hat with his left hand. His right hand plucked his monocle off and stowed it inside the hat. Tucking the hat against his stomach, KID swept his cape out into a graceful, regal bow before straightening and gazing at Conan with a heavily shadowed, but completely bare face. “Kuroba Kaito. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Tantei-kun.”

“I…” Conan stuttered, overwhelmed. “KID…”

“I thought that of all my critics, you were the one that would be most deserving of my identity,” Kuroba explained, a tentative smile on his lips as he knelt so that they were level.

Conan was floored by the amount of trust that KID had placed in him. Blue eyes took in the features that were so much like his own had he been his actual age, noting even in the dim lighting the subtle differences between them, such as the indigo shade of his eyes, the higher, sharper cheek bones, the slightly more angular jawline. Even as he tried to wrap his brain around the idea of knowing Kaitou KID—Kuroba Kaito—he scrambled to figure out what exactly he had done to deserve the steady conviction that positively glowed in the magician’s eyes. “Thank you,” he finally managed after wrestling his stupefied tongue and mouth into submission. “But I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.”

Kuroba grinned, tucking his hat beneath an arm. “You were just being you,” he answered as he stood, as though that were explanatory enough. “Even though you are a detective and you uphold the law, you do not allow your morals to be compromised _because_ of the law. It’s why you’ve helped me in the past, despite the fact that I, too, am a criminal.”

“But that’s not anything special,” Conan argued, still mentally reeling from Kuroba’s gift. “It’s something most people would do!”

The magician tutted. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Tantei-kun.” His eyes lifted from the detective’s to the horizon of streetlights and buildings. “You see, I’ve come across a good number of enforcers of the law over the years, in many different countries. And not one of them showed a single _gram_ of the mercy that you possess. _Not one,_ Tantei-kun.” Kuroba laughed depreciatingly. “It doesn’t matter that I, myself, have never killed, and yet I’m still considered a felon with a lifetime sentence in prison several times over should they catch me.”

“So why do it? Why steal?” Conan asked, eager to get a glimpse of the inner workings of Kaitou KID.

“Because I can’t let _Them_ find it,” he answered softly, and Conan felt the blood freeze in his veins, a crystallization that had nothing to do with the outside temperature.

 _“Them?”_ he demanded as he zeroed in on the possibility, mind racing to potential members of the Black Organization, “Who is _Them_?”

Kuroba cut a sharp glance at him, and Conan could see Kaitou KID’s infamous Poker Face being rebuilt before his eyes. _No no_ no _…! The first lead I’ve had in ages, and he’s going to hide it from me?!_ “Are _They_ the same people I’m after?” he threw out in a rush, and Kuroba studied him, appraising.

“I don’t know who you are after,” he replied after a long period of considering silence, “But the people I’m after killed my father.”

That fact did not surprise Conan as much as it should have, considering he had seen the results of the failed attempts to shoot Kaitou KID in the form of broken windows and gouged walls. But the fact that these men after KID had killed and were willing to kill again cemented his decision. It did not matter if they were Black Organization members. Murderers were murderers, and he caught murderers. That KID had proven himself to be a fantastic ally over the years only helped his case. “I’ll help you catch them,” he stated, determination in his voice. “I’ll help you avenge your father.”

The magician backpedaled, holding his hands out. “Oi, wait, that’s not necessary—!”

“And in order for us to successfully work together,” Conan continued, steamrolling over Kuroba’s protests even as he steeled him self for the reveal, “You’re going to have to know who I am too.”

Kuroba froze, staring at Conan with obvious confusion. “Who _you_ are?” he parroted quizzically. “You’re just an abnormally brilliant eleven-year-old detective by the name of Edogawa Conan.” His brow crinkled. “Aren’t you?”

Conan huffed a laugh. “I’m flattered you think that,” he drawled, “But my acting skills aren’t that good, and even if I _were_ a child prodigy there’s no way I should know what I know.” The shrunken detective slid the gadget-riddled pair of glasses off his nose and tucked them in a pocket. “Edogawa Conan is a name I made up.” His blue eyes caught Kuroba’s indigo ones. “In reality, I’m twenty-one years of age. My name is Kudou Shinichi.”

The phantom thief blinked at the boy before him, perplexity written clear across his face. “You’re actually twenty-one years old.” The statement was oozing with disbelief.

Shinichi snorted. “Well, physically, no. I’m eleven. But mentally, I’m twenty-one.”

Kuroba seemed to take the news in stride relatively well. “Okay,” he murmured, “I’ll roll with that. So what happened to you?”

“Poison,” Shinichi replied. “De-aged me instead of killing me. I’m after the guys who did this to me.”

“I don’t blame you,” was Kuroba’s rejoinder. He blinked before he asked, “Wait, aren’t you the Kudou Shinichi that disappeared five years ago? The Modern-Day Holmes?”

Shinichi nodded. “That would be me,” he answered blandly.

Kuroba chuckled. “It makes so much sense how you were able to keep up with me then,” he laughed. “I had thought that I was continually getting bested by a pipsqueak half my age.” The magician tossed a grin at the detective. “Do you know how relieving it is to know that you weren’t being outsmarted by someone who hadn’t even hit puberty yet?”

The sleuth scowled. “I actually _had_ hit puberty before I was shrunk, thanks,” he snipped back with laughter in his eyes. It was utterly refreshing to be able to talk to someone and having them treat him like his actual age, and he could tell that Kuroba was relishing the fact that he now had someone to freely talk to as both himself and KID. Both of their biggest secrets were now laid bare, and they had both come away with a new friend and confidant.

“Well,” Kuroba announced with a small cough, “If you’re going to help me, then please allow me to offer my services to your cause as well.”

“I can’t have you do that,” Shinichi immediately objected, “ _They_ would not hesitate to kill you and everyone else around you.”

Kuroba snorted. “Like that hasn’t stopped _Them_ from sniping at me during heists.”

“Kuroba-san, this is much more dangerous—” Shinichi began, but the magician interrupted as he once again knelt before the detective, bringing them eye-to-eye.

“Trust me to know what I’m doing, Kudou-san,” the thief murmured, eyes glittering in the dim lighting. “I’ve survived this long alone. If we work together, there’s no way we _can’t_ bring _Them_ down.” Kuroba smiled, his expression full of hope and certainty. It was not arrogance in his expression—it was confidence in his own abilities and the abilities of his newfound friend. “Trust me the way I trust you,” he quietly entreated.

Shinichi gazed into the eyes of the most wanted thief in the world, and felt hope bloom warm and soothing in his chest. He laughed softly before returning his gaze to Kuroba’s. “After the present you’ve given me, how could I _not_ trust you?” A fierce grin spread across his face to match the magician’s. “We’ll get _Them_ for sure. _They_ ’re not going to know what hit them.”

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: So this is a rewrite of the prompt that I was given for Poirot Café’s Prompt Exchange #2. Not quite sure what the title’s supposed to mean. I originally wrote one with exactly 500 words because I thought that was the cap, but as it was only a suggestion, I felt that I cheated neonkoi, my prompt writer, out of a better, more fleshed-out fic. Therefore, this is the result—a rather whimsical, lighthearted, and maybe slightly cracked-out piece that strictly follows canon. It means that it is unclear if Kaito ever figured out that Shinichi was Conan. This was it great fun to write, if a little OOC for Kaito. I think this is as close as I’ll ever get to writing KaiShin/ShinKai, because romance just isn’t. my. thing. Sorry (not sorry). I’ll leave the romance aspect to those better suited to writing that particular genre. Kaito is familiar with how Americans celebrate Christmas because: 1.) he visited the States when his father was alive and touring his magic performances; and 2.) he sometimes visits his mother, who has been living primarily in Las Vegas since she left Kaito on his own. -1°C is 30°F, and 5°C is 41°F; ten meters is thirty-three feet, and three meters is about ten feet. The quote about friends is from Frank Crane. I hope you enjoyed it—especially you, neonkoi.
> 
> \---
> 
> Completed: 30.12.2015


End file.
